Dream Palace
by willam
Summary: Eames takes a peek in Arthur's dreams and finds more then he was expecting.
1. Dream Palace

**Dream Palace**

Eames knocked softly on the door of Arthur's flat. He had rented it for the job they were on, saying it was more economically feasible then a hotel room, since the projection for this job was at least nine months. Eames had smiled a little at this, it being such an Arthur thing to do. He himself was happily holed up in a cheaper motel by the airport, but he never had been as picky as Arthur. The flat seemed to make Arthur happier than he had been on other jobs where he had had a hotel room though, and Eames figured the hominess must be doing him some good.

He stood outside the door for a good ten minutes with no answer from Arthur. He knocked again. Cobb had sent him because Arthur had been late that morning, a rarity for Arthur as it was, but he had seemed increasingly distant with all of them and Cobb was worried about him. Why he hadn't come himself Eames wasn't sure, but he figured it had something to do with the fact that Arthur always did what Eames asked, if only to stop him from irritating him any farther. When there was still no answer he knocked again and pressed his ear to the door. He heard no movement from inside the flat and pulled out his cell, punching in Cobb's number.

"Hey, it's me. I was just wondering if Arthur had shown up there, cause it doesn't sound like he's home."

"No, he hasn't come in yet." Eames could hear the concern seeping into Cobb's voice.

"Don't worry about it. I'll take a look around and I'll call you when I know something."

He clicked off and drew both his gun and the lock picking kit tucked into his jacket. Cobb didn't have to explain his concern, if Arthur wasn't here or there then there was a good chance that the mark had found out about the job and had picked up the man who had been poking around in his life. And that usually meant that the man never walked away.

The lock took Eames almost a full minute, he was getting rusty. He tried to open the door, only to find the chain was on. He let out an exasperated sigh, typical Arthur. He backed up to the opposite side of the hall and launched himself towards the door, focusing all of his strength on the point of his shoulder. The door gave way under the onslaught, slamming against the wall as Eames flew over the threshold. He hoped none of Arthur's neighbours called the police.

He did a quick sweep of the room, gun raised. When he didn't see anyone he lowered the gun briefly to close the door as much as he could in its shattered frame. It made it less likely that anyone would get curious about what was going on in the apartment. He began to creep down the hall, as quietly as he could, stopping to do a sweep of each room he came to. Every room was furnished with particle board furniture, the likes of which wouldn't be out of place in college dorm rooms. There was no art or anything else personal on the walls, and though Arthur was inclined to the sparse side of decorating this was bland even for him. He didn't see any sign of a struggle, or any strangers but he also didn't see Arthur. As he moved towards the last door at the end of the hall he really began to worry. He pressed both a palm and an ear against the door and when he didn't hear or feel anything he carefully pushed the door open.

Arthur was lying in the middle of the bed, fully dressed in his usually pristinely pressed three-piece suit. He was hooked up to PASIV, sleeping soundly. Eames did a quick sweep of the room before he went to Arthur. It may still be a trap. The bedroom, like the other rooms in the flat didn't really scream Arthur, but Eames expected that from a pre-furnished place. He lowered his gun and stepped towards Arthur's prone figure. He sat down next to him on the meticulously made bed in order to feel his pulse. It was steady and strong and there were no overt signs that someone had drugged him, so Eames had to assume he had hooked himself up. Eames placed his gun on the side table on lay down on the bed next to Arthur. He fed out an additional cable on the PASIV and hooked himself up. He wanted to see what was so important to Arthur that he would miss work and worry all of them. He felt the drugs tugging him back into the bed and settled in, shutting his eyes.

When he opened them again he was laying on a stone road in front of what looked to him like a huge marble castle. He stood slowly, not looking away from the sight in front of him. He had always thought Arthur had a limited imagination, being as practical as he was, and this was completely not what he had expected to find in the mind of his co-worker. He started up the path towards the intimidating wooden doors that were the entrance to this massive structure. No projections stood guard, but Eames still took his time, in case something decided to jump out at him. The door was heavy but unlocked and he pushed it open just enough to slip through, which would also cut down on projections looking for him later. He was in a tall lobby, with a grand staircase covered in rich fabrics and several priceless art pieces. The art was definitely Arthur, post-modernist and impressionist together. There were sounds coming from the halls up stairs and the room to his left. He poked his head in there first, to find a Victorian style circus, with fire-breathers and gymnasts. Projections were walking around, looking at everything in awe. Eames wondered what this could mean to Arthur, and decided to investigate the noises up the stairs.

When Eames got to the top of the staircase he found two hallways. He took the one on the right, taking care not to make too much noise. Most of the noises he had heard from down stairs seemed to be coming from this side. The hallway took him down several others, and he saw a few more art pieces, though each one of them seemed to be uglier than the last. He finally arrived at a long and empty hallway that ended in a damp-looking wooden door. As Eames got closer to the door he saw that someone, Arthur he supposed, had nailed several boards across the door. He wedged his fingers under one of the boards and yanked. The board came free and he started on a new he got the last one off he heard an ear piercing scream from somewhere behind the door. It sounded like Arthur. Eames yanked hard on the door to find it locked. For the second time in as many minutes, Eames prepared to break down a door.

He braced both hands against the doorframe and kicked as hard as he could at the wood just below the knob. The door buckled slightly and Eames kicked it again. The door gave way with a horrible crack and swung open. Eames drew his gun and stepped through. He started slightly when he stepped into a hallway that looked a little like the basement of a school. It was dark and damp, with pipes lining the ceiling that dripped on Eames' head. There were no windows, and no light save for a single uncovered light bulb that swung from the dank ceiling. There was a line of doors on either side of the hallway, each one as decrepit as the last. Eames couldn't hear anything anymore so he slowly approached the first door on his right. Lowering his gun to his side, he gently opened the door.

Eames was surprised again when the door opened onto a bright, sunny room. There were four sets of bunk beds crammed into the small space, and the tiny amount of visible floor between them was covered in piles of clothes. From the look of the clothes—and the state of them—all of the room's inhabitants were boys. A small, dark boy was sitting on the bottom bunk of the closest set to the door. His eyes were wide and a little frightened, and his hands were folded in his lap. There was a slim, pale and sickly looking man sitting next to him, putting his hand on his back.

"It's okay honey," he said, in a voice that made Eames' skin crawl. "Nobody has to know…."

The man leaned down towards the boy and Eames closed the door before he gave in to his urge to shoot the man several times in the face, and the junk for good measure.

Eames moved across the hall to the next door. This one opened onto a small, dreary apartment. Rain fell outside the grubby sliding door that led, Eames assumed, to the patio. The remains of a meal were strewn about the floor, and it looked as though at least one of the dishes had made contact with the wall before getting there. A bulky young man, no older than twenty, with red hair and cold eyes was quite calmly beating the shit out of the smaller man underneath him. When the slender man getting beaten turned to try to get away, Eames saw in his face traces of the Arthur he knew. The larger man grabbed the young Arthur roughly by the hair, drawing him against his body. Arthur's shirt rode high and Eames could see this wasn't the first "disagreement" the couple had had.

"You think you're just going to leave me bitch?" the man hissed in Arthur's ear. "I own you."

Arthur screeched and struggled harder, trying to free himself from the iron grip his tormentor had on his hair. Eames winced as several strands parted ways with Arthur's scalp. The man lifted him clear off the floor and began to cart him off. Arthur screamed long and loud, and tried valiantly to get free, biting scratching and kicking. The man seemed to be used to such onslaughts, as he didn't even pause. He just grunted and sunk a fist into Arthur's abdomen. Arthur stopped struggling as he gasped for air, and the man carted him around the corner slamming a door somewhere in the apartment. Eames was across the threshold, ready to follow when he heard the same blood-curdling scream that had made him break down the first door.

Eames hurried down the hallway. The scream was from one of the last doors on his left side. He eased it open and what he saw broke his heart. It was a different apartment, cheerier, with more windows and dozens of pictures on the walls. The walls themselves were a light yellow, making the room seem even brighter and more welcoming. The pictures on the wall were of Arthur and a young man that Eames had never seen before, and who was certainly not the one from the other room. They seemed to go back at least a few years, and they all seemed to be happy. What Eames was really focused on however was the scene in the living room. It looked as though someone had ransacked the place. Papers were tossed everywhere, there were broken plates on the floor and the contents of several vases were crushed underfoot and sinking into the carpet. There was blood everywhere. In the center of all of it was broken body of a young man. Eames thought that it must be the young man from the pictures. Arthur was kneeling next to the body, sobbing uncontrollably. The scream must have been when he found the body. Every now and then Arthur would reach out a hand and touch the other man's face, as though he could not really completely believe what he was seeing. He eventually maneuvered the man's body into his lap and rocked gently, his lips moving slightly. Eames realized he was talking to the body.

"I'm so sorry baby. Please, please no. Please no. Please wake up honey. Come back…"

Eames shut the door quietly behind him.

He had reached the end of the hallway and there was a slight incline up into what looked like sunnier territory. He followed the hall up into a brightly lit section, slightly higher than the one he had been in previously. He holstered his pistol, having found no need for it so far in his adventure. He looked around and found he was in a hall similar to the one behind him. It had only a few doors however, and they were in better shape. He didn't really want to see anymore hurt befall Arthur, but he couldn't help himself. This place was giving him the opportunity to learn more about the other man than Arthur would ever tell him outside the dream world.

The first door Eames opened led him to a funeral. Dom and Arthur stood side by side in front of an open grave. The tomb stone was nearby, strapped to a cart. Eames could see Mal and some other people he assumed had attended the funeral standing off to the side. Dom set his hand on Arthur's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry Arthur. I didn't know they would go after him. If I had, I never…."

Arthur looked at his friend with bloodshot eyes. "Don't Dom, just don't."

Both men turned back to the grave and stood in silence, Dom's hand still on Arthur's shoulder.

Eames couldn't see anything at first when he opened the next door, but he could hear Arthur's voice.

"Why did you have to kill him? He had nothing to do with this. He didn't know anything."

"I have a job to do. Besides, it was fun. Do you want to know what he offered for his life?"

The room was suddenly lit up by the muzzle flashes from Arthur's gun. It illuminated the look of silent fury on his face, as well as the jerking body of the man who had been kneeling in front of him.

The door after that one contained a job he had done with Arthur in Chicago. He had missed the kick and they had both been afraid he had fallen into limbo. At least, Eames had been. He hadn't known how worried Arthur was that he wasn't coming back, but he could feel it now resonating in the small room where they had set up the PASIV. Arthur was shaking him hard, slapping him across the face a few times. When none of that worked he seized the jug of water off the side table and poured it down Eames' head. Eames remembered the cold starting him awake, and now he could feel the relief from Arthur. He started slightly when he realized he could hear what Arthur was thinking to himself.

_I almost lost him too. The fucking idiot._

Arthur punched the wall and Eames had always assumed it had been in frustration of failing the job, but it had been to release the tension of thinking he had lost Eames. Eames smiled to himself and wondered how many of the doors behind him contained memories about him.

The final door in this hall opened back on the apartment that Arthur shared with the young man who had been killed. This time everything was orderly and Arthur was draped across the couch in sweat pants and an oversize t-shirt. He was reading A Tale of Two Cities while the young man, who was leaning against the couch now fully alive, read over his shoulder. Eventually this got boring for the other man, who began to puff air into Arthur's ear. Arthur laughed and swatted at him and the man came around the other side of the couch. He knelt beside Arthur and produced two tickets from his pocket.

"Come on, I've got two tickets to the Russian circus, what do you say?"

Arthur smiled a little reluctantly. "Fine, let's go."

The other man grinned as though he had won some rare prize and leaned in to kiss Arthur. Eames closed the door, feeling a little pang of jealousy. He had reached the end of the hall, where there stood another door. He walked through this one only to find himself back downstairs, beside the room with the circus. He rolled his eyes.

"Paradox," he muttered to himself.

He now had a better view of the entire circus, and decided to take advantage. The fire breathers drew murmurs of awe from the crowd while gymnasts vaulted over each other and contortionists folded themselves into strange configurations. Acrobats hung from the ceiling on long ribbons and twisted prettily from their perches so far off the ground. Every performer was dressed to the nines in beautifully coloured silk outfits, some of the female fire breathers even fully dressed in lavish ball gowns. Eames caught sight of the young man and Arthur wandering between the performers. For someone who had been so reluctant to come, Arthur seemed to be having a magnificent time. Suddenly, the acrobats dropped a long banner from the ceiling, causing several of the startled projections to leap quickly out of harm's way. _Arthur will you marry me? _was emblazoned on the thin silk in red. Arthur gasped delightedly and turned to the man beside him. The man knelt, grinning broadly, and produced a slim silver band. Arthur nodded emphatically, seemingly unable to speak, and offered his companion his hand. After slipping the ring on Arthur's finger the man stood and embraced him, kissing Arthur hard. The projections cheered. Eames felt even worse for Arthur, losing this man the way he had.

Eames returned to the lobby and made his way back up the staircase. This time when given the choice he walked down the hallway on the left. This hallway, while as long and convoluted as the previous one, contained no art unlike the other. This one instead boasted photos on either side of the hall, framing the windows that were present. There were ornate vases filled with flowers at regular intervals as well. The photos were a range of subjects and occasions. Here was one of Arthur holding baby Phillipa, one of Ariadne and Eames with Arthur at his favourite bar, Yusef's birthday party, Eames and Arthur speaking intimately over drinks, their heads nearly touching and Eames noticing for the first time that his hand ended up on Arthur's knee. Here was one of Arthur and the young man who had been killed. They are in a pile of leaves and Arthur's head is thrown back in laughter as the man, grinning over Arthur's shoulder, clings to him for dear life. In another they lean against a bar, enjoying a beer and each other's company. Eames sees several photos of Arthur and this young man, but can't help but notice that there are far more of him and Arthur. At Mal's funeral, at Arthur's surprise birthday last year, in Eames' home in Mombasa building a fence. Everywhere was him and Arthur.

As he made his way farther down the hall he realized that this section had no doors what so ever.

He peered into several of the spaces on his way past, checking each of them out. The first one held, surprisingly, the same room where Arthur had been molested as a boy. This time all the beds were full, with Arthur in his on the bottom nearest to the door. The room was dark this time, it was night. The man Eames had seen before slipped in through the partially open door and made his way over to the bed, sitting down next to Arthur. Eames felt his skin crawl, but suddenly all of the lights turned on. The man froze, his hand underneath Arthur's blanket and turned to look at who Eames could only assume was his wife standing by the wall switch. She screeched and launched herself at the man.

Eames crossed the hall and found the hospital room where James was born and where Dom had asked Arthur to be godfather of him and Phillipa. In another room there was a squabble over a copy of Dante's inferno that ended with Arthur walking away with the phone number of the young man who would become his fiancé. There was the domestic abuse home where Arthur finally got away from his ex. There was the first night Arthur had called the other young man—who now had a name, Henry—nervous about being with someone after he had been hurt so badly, physically and emotionally, and staying on the line with him for three hours. Eames crossed the hall again and found himself and Arthur building the fence in his backyard. The next one held the one night when Arthur had gotten a little too tipsy and had allowed Eames to drag him out onto the floor for a slow dance, his hand resting firmly over Arthur's pinstriped-clad behind. Arthur had even allowed himself a moment of weakness that night and had laid his head on Eames' shoulder for part of the dance.

Eames came to the last door on the hall, right at the very end. This one was much larger than the others, and brighter too, seemingly a solarium of some sort. Arthur was there, sitting on a small daybed in a perfectly pressed three-piece suit. He rocked a large bassinet gently with one hand, while he quietly hummed a tune that Eames didn't recognise. The look on Arthur's face made Eames smile. He was so happy it was beautiful. The baby in the basinet started to fuss and Arthur picked him up without a second thought. Eames watched Arthur rock the baby gently and pat him until he burped softly. Arthur wiped his face gently and didn't seem to notice the tiny bit of spit up now on his suit jacket. The baby gurgled happily as Arthur held him against his chest and smiled down at him warmly. Eames had never thought of Arthur had a parent, though he was very good with Cobb's kids. Even so, watching Arthur now Eames could see he was made to be a dad. A door slammed from somewhere off to Eames' left and he started, pulling back from the doorway slightly.

A small boy ran in, almost tripping on the shoelaces trailing behind him. Arthur laughed a little exasperatedly at the sight of the untied shoes. The boy screeched to a halt in front of Arthur.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Guess what Papa got me?"

"More toys you won't play with?" asked Arthur with a slight smile.

"Hey!" said a voice from Eames' left. "Just because he doesn't play with them doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate them."

Arthur smiled at the man, whoever he was. "Come hold your son for a while."

Eames backed even further away from the door when he himself came around the corner. It was the oddest experience he had ever had, watching himself take this child—his son—from Arthur and smiling down at him. Arthur got off the bed and reached up to kiss Eames softly over the baby. Eames in the door looked away from the couple in time to see the other boy staring at him. He was a projection Eames knew, but he still raised a finger to his lips and shook his head in the vain hope that this projection of a child also acted like one.

"Daddy?"

Arthur looked away from projection Eames with a little reluctance. "Yes Darling?"

The boy pointed right at Eames. "Who's that?"

Eames had the second oddest experience he had ever had when projection Eames turned to stare him down. Arthur stared at him with wide eyes.

"Eames?"

The wall next to Eames cracked, and a horrible thought struck him. This was the real Arthur, as in the Arthur whose mind he was in. The Arthur who now knew he was poking around in his brain. Eames turned and bolted, hoping to get far enough from the projections not to be torn apart and to wake up in enough time to at least think up a plausible explanation as to why he was poking around in Arthur's memories. The projections surged towards him from the open doorways. It occurred to Eames for one fleeting moment that murdering himself might be an interesting experience he would never have again. It passed when he realized it would still be extremely painful for him when the projections got the upper hand, which they would since there were so many of them. He raced down the hall, only to get cut off at the top of the stairs by the circus from the room off the lobby. Eames turned to what he saw as his only exit, the window. He leapt to his death as the fire-breathers closed in on him.

Eames shot up as he woke, breathing hard. He always hated the sound he made when he connected with the ground. He shook his head to clear it and hurriedly pulled the IV out of his arm, standing up and bracing himself against the wall away from the bed. Arthur's eyes snapped open and he ripped the needle out of the back of his hand angrily. He shoved himself off the bed, brushing the wrinkles out of his suit even as he got in Eames' face. He was sputtering in anger and gesturing wildly.

"What….you….how could….I can't even believe you would...uhhh" Arthur stared at Eames with huge, hurt eyes. "I trusted you!"

"You have no reason not to Darling." Eames said, trying to still Arthur's movements by grabbing his shoulders.

Arthur twisted sharply away. "No reason! You were just poking around in my mind!"

"I was worried about you, so was Cobb. I thought someone had gotten you…"

"Why didn't you just wake me up? What made you think you had the right to go snooping around in my head?"

"I won't tell anyone." Arthur stopped pacing and wrapped his arms around himself. Eames let out the breath he had been holding, he had guessed right.

"I'm really sorry Darling."

Arthur looked at him furiously. "You don't have anything else to say for yourself?"

"Actually, I do. I want three kids, not two."

Eames was a little surprised at the power behind the punch that Arthur connected with his jaw. He fell back against the bed side table, holding his jaw and laughing to himself. Arthur stormed out of the apartment, cursing when he saw what Eames had done to his door, and then slamming it as best he could.

Later that night, when Eames' jaw had stopped hurting and Arthur had calmed down, Eames went to find him. He sat next to Arthur in a back room and watched him clean his gun with ease and care. He spoke to him softly and Arthur listened. Then, Eames asked him something and meant it and Arthur considered it, then said yes and meant it.

That night, they went on their first date. There were many more to come.


	2. Epilogue

**Epilogue **

Arthur was awakened by his five year old landing on top of him and his husband, screaming. Eames grunted and sat up in the bed, grabbing the flailing child. Arthur looked around blearily, reaching for the gun in his bedside table.

"Papa! He's torturing me!"

Their other two children Peter, sixteen, and Daniel, ten, appeared at the door. Peter was dripping onto the carpet and looking very displeased. Daniel, as usual, stayed one step behind his brother and had a firm hold on the back of his t-shirt.

"Why are you wet?" asked a perplexed Arthur, sitting up in bed.

His eldest pointed a shaky finger at his brother, and it sounded a little like he may be growling.

Eames looked very seriously into his son's eyes. "Max?"

The small boy refused to meet his father's eyes.

"I was trying to give him a bath. He's filthy and Ariadne and Dom will be here to pick us up soon."

Max snuggled into Eames' neck and refused to look at him. Arthur smiled softly. He may not be Eames' biological son but he had definitely picked up a few of his habits, including being cute when he was in trouble.

"I don't wanna go Papa." Eames rubbed his back a little and kissed the top of his head.

"You love going to Auntie Ari and Uncle Dom's." Max shook his head.

"I wanna stay here with you and Daddy."

Eames looked at Arthur. "Today is a very important day for Daddy. He's not really ready to share it with you guys yet. Someday, very soon, when you're all a little more grown up, we'll explain it to you. But," Eames slipped out of the bed, taking his son with him. He put him into his brother's arms. "for now, you're going to get into that bath and you're going to do what your brother tells you got it?"

Max nodded glumly under his father's stern finger and all three of the boys headed down the hall towards the bathroom. Eames followed after them, promising to bring Arthur some breakfast.

Arthur lay back in his bed that he shared with Eames and looked at the ceiling they had painted, here in their house that had their pictures on the wall. They had been lucky with the boys, three boys just what they wanted ready to be adopted. They were fresh out of the foster care system and the workers had been considering splitting them up in order to up their chances of getting adopted. Then Arthur and Eames had come along.

Arthur was getting used to his new life with Eames. They didn't work as much obviously, with the kids to look after, but they had enough saved up that they didn't really need to. Sometimes at night the coldness of his wedding band against his face would wake him, but he was getting used to it. There were more and more rooms in the happy portion of his palace, filled with the laughter and memories of his children and their father. And with Eames' help more and more of the bad memory rooms got torn down. He visited it less and less now, because he felt like he didn't need it anymore.

His husband returned with a tray, dry toast and tea. Eames had insisted Arthur ate breakfast, something Arthur hadn't done since his childhood and those were the only two things he could eat without being sick. Arthur smiled to himself. Eames took such good care of him. He began to nibble on his toast and Eames pecked him on the cheek and headed towards the bathroom.

"I'm going to grab a quick shower before we head out. I picked up the grey one from the cleaners yesterday, that's the one you wanted to wear right?"

Arthur smiled and nodded, taking a sip of his tea. Eames smiled back at him and threw his t-shirt at him. Arthur laughed and batted it away. He heard the shower start and settled in with his toast and the paper Eames had added to his tray. Now all he had to do was wait for his husband, they were going out.

They were going to visit Henry, it was his birthday.


End file.
